His hair was damp, his right cheek pressed into a cold floor that felt uneven.
The movement from breathing hurt. Trying to open his eyes - little splinters
of white pain jabbed his eyes, and he groaned, quickly shutting his eyes
again. He thought he might sit up, and discovered his hands were tied behind
his back. Something wide and thick around his wrists. He shivered; it was
cold in the room, wherever he was, and his jacket was gone.

Where was
here?

Slowly, slowly,
he tried one eye, and saw floor in the dim light; glanced up a little
and saw a deeper darkness. He rolled onto his right side, feeling sick
with dizziness. His head hurt. He had to get up. Had to - the others would
be searching for him, worried. Where was his jacket?

Another groan.
He moved his legs, heard a clink, felt something pulling at his left ankle.
He dug the toe of his boot into the uneven floor and tugged back; something
held firm. Slow twisting and wriggling and he could just see, in the dimness,
a - chain? From his ankle? to some thick ring in the floor.

It was ridiculous.
The worst parody of a horror movie dungeon. If his head didn't hurt, he
would have laughed. Donovan would laugh. Donny would make a joke about
the whole thing. Where was Donny?

Steps, echoing.
He tried to turn onto his left side, groaning again when he lay on his
left side and his head touched the floor. Clenching his teeth against
pain, he shut his eyes, feeling sick. The steps drew closer, two sets?
Three? He waited, lying there, swimming in pain and cold, realizing something
was wrong with his head. And where was Donny? And the others? Tamran would
be pissed. He would yell about the delay - the delay of - of what? Something
important.

A hand on
his hair suddenly, grabbing a fistful, jerking him up so that he was suddenly
on his knees, the chain tugging at his left ankle, his arms struggling
to brace himself at the sudden movement, but unable to do so because of
something holding them. A moan, his eyes closed, feeling dizzier. His
head was pulled back further; he opened his eyes, slowly, blinking at
shapes and at the light overhead which suddenly swung into view. Blinded
for the moment, his eyes tearing at the light after such dimness, he struggled
to stay on his knees and not fall back.

The hand
jerked his head, tightened, pulled his head back so that he was staring
at the ceiling again. He waited.

Something
on his throat, cold, sharp. He was beginning to shiver from the cold which
was eating into him, little spasms that he tried to control. The jacket...the
jacket would have been warm. A knife danced before his eyes.

"Nicholas.
So kind of you to come here, to provide me with entertainment," said
a deep voice. A face near his, a man. He knew the man - no? he had seen
the face, though. Somewhere...

A woman's
laugh, low, delighted. Nicholas shivered more, his balance swinging by
the man who held his hair in such a grip.

"He's
beautiful, Dmitri. You didn't tell me he was so lovely," said the
woman. The man who had spoken to Nicholas laughed. A woman, stepping closer
into the light, into his sight, leaning over him. A hand, stroking his
cheek, touching the left side of his head...

Nicholas
groaned, turning his head. A sharp slap across his face, a taste of copper
pennies in his mouth from blood. It tickled down his chin. He swallowed,
his breath coming in little shudders because he was so cold, his head
hurt so.

"Never
turn from me," said the woman. The hand came back, stroking his jaw
with one finger, down his throat. Dmitri moved the knife back before Nicholas'
eyes.

Dmitri waved
the knife again, touching the tip of it to Nicholas' cheek. "It's
time for us to begin. I want to know what they've done with my files."
He leaned close to Nicholas, the knife moving down the throat, pricking
at the collar bone. "Tell me where you took the files."

Nicholas
blinked, shaking his head. Files? An image, Nicholas and another man with
dark hair, at a computer while the room was dark, whispering, excited.
A noise...climbing out the window into bitter cold and ice chipping at
their skin from the harsh wind, more darkness, and running...

Another smack
across his mouth, his head jerking back against the hand that was still
there. He would have fallen if the hand had not held him up by his hair.

"Tell
me!" shouted Dmitri. "Don't play me for a fool, boy!" Another
smack, another. Blood, he could feel it trickling down his mouth from
both corners, down his neck. His eyes rolled, blurring, and he groaned.

She shook
her head, visible even in the dimness. "No. They've been trained.
He's been trained to resist that. He'll never tell you."

"Then
I'll kill him."

A low chuckle
from the woman, and somehow, that was more terrifying than Dmitri discussing
the use of drugs.

"You
should have faith, my love," she said. Soft clicking of heels on
the hard floor as she moved about. "He really is beautiful, you know,"
she said softly. She touched Nicholas' hair. "It's like pale gold.
I want him."

"You
- WANT him? I don't have time for your games, Selena. I need those files.
If Caleb learns - "

"Caleb
won't learn. And give me the boy for three days. That's all I ask, Dmitri,
three days. If I can't get him to talk in three days, you can do whatever
you want to with him." Her hand again, moving down his chest, exploring.
Nicholas shuddered, feeling - used.

A long pause,
Nicholas breathing harshly as his body jerked in little spasms from the
cold and Selena's hand beneath his shirt, touching, moving, as though
she had the right. He twisted away from it, only to feel her suddenly
grasp a nipple and twist it; it hurt. "uhhh" he said, his shoulders
tensing.

"I said
- never turn from me." The hand again, groping, and he clenched his
teeth, not moving. "Good," she said, approving.

"All
right," said Dmitri, sighing. "Three days. No more."

Sounds of
steps, one set, moving away. Dmitri.

"Take
him to my rooms. Have him bathed, have him changed. You know what I like,"
said Selena. A gruff "uh" behind Nicholas was the only answer.

And slow
brightness, growing. This time, something soft under his cheek. Nicholas
moved his arms, slowly - free? Some crazy dream. He turned his head, opening
his eyes, slowly, pulling himself onto his forearms...

A room he
had never seen, lying on pale creamy carpet. A fireplace, fire crackling,
which would feel good. He was still cold. He moved towards, choking as
something around his throat snatched him back.

His hand
moved up, touching his throat, feeling until his fingers told him he wore
some sort of collar, no buckle that he could locate, and a link at the
front. A chain in the link, and from there it captured him, pining him
to the floor. He could crouch, or kneel, but not stand. He grabbed the
ring in the floor, tugging it with both hands, bracing his foot against
it -

His foot!
He blinked. Those weren't his boots! The chain dropped from his hands
as he wildly began looking at his clothes.

"Merdé,"
he muttered. "I look like something from a leather bar!" Black
leather boots to his calves, beneath black leather pants, snug and soft,
a belt with small silver chains on each hip. No shirt. Black leather cuffs
around each wrist, no sign of a latch or buckle. He held up one wrist
to the light - soldered on? How long had he been unconscious? He touched
his face, winced as his fingers touch his mouth; not long, then. He remembered
the slaps, and blue eyes darkened with anger. He moved his hand up, touching
the left side of his head, and felt almost sick at the soreness, lingering
pain. A bandage there, square. He moved closer to the fire, shivering,
and glanced at a polished metal basket. He could make out a bruise on
his right chin, see dark circles beneath his eyes, the square bandage
on his head.

He sat, his
legs crossed, holding his head, eyes closed. He was a little warmer closer
to the fire, but his back was cold now. He thought - of Donny, yelling,
of both of them running from the streets and into a field, running until
they were gasping with freezing air cutting their lungs. Someone yelling
- Donny telling him they were going to make it...a loud crack, and pain
in his head, falling, snow in his mouth. Someone tugging at him, trying
to make him stand, and he couldn't move. He felt so sick, his head had
hurt so much. Someone at his jacket, searching. A voice - "I'll be
back. I promise you, I'll be back. Don't tell them anything." Leaving,
leaving him - no! come back! And more voices, steps crunching in the snow,
yelling, hands grabbing him, rolling him over, checking his jacket, pulling
it off, taking him somewhere - to here?

He looked
up again, rubbing his hands on his arms, crouching. The fire had begun
to die, and there was no wood to add to it. Again, he grabbed the chain
that tied his neck, and him, to the floor, to this room. He tugged, bracing
the boot against the link, pulling.

"Ah
ah ah!" said a voice cheerfully. What was her name? Selena?

Nicholas
looked up, still holding the chain. "Who are you?" he asked.
His voice seemed raspy.

She smiled.
She was tall, voluptuous, wearing a red satin sleeveless gown, the neckline
cut in a Mandarin style, dark blond hair pulled back in a bun. Two lacquered
chopsticks were through the bun, matching earrings. Her nails were blood
red. She moved slowly, motioning at a woman who was silent beside her;
the woman skittered away, returning with a warm fur, wrapping it around
Selena's shoulders.

"Are
you cold?" she asked politely, sitting in a chair near the fire.

"Who
are you?" he repeated.

"I do
love your accent. French? But just a hint. Perhaps you left France as
a child?" she continued, as though they were at a party.

Nicholas
hated crouching on the floor in front of her. He wanted to stand; he was
cold.

"I said
- WHO ARE YOU?" he snapped.

The smile
left her face, and she snapped her fingers. A huge man, silent, came forward
quickly, grabbing Nicholas' chain in one hand, and his left wrist in the
other, twisting it up behind his back until he went to the floor. The
other hand twisted the chain, then jerked at the collar. Something inside
the collar pulled, constricted, closing on his throat, cutting off his
air...Nicholas twisted, bucking against the man, gasping for air and against
the pain in his arm, in his head. He pushed against the floor with his
right boot, trying to get up, to get some leverage against the man, until
he began to see black dots.

Selena knelt
on the floor, nodding at the man who held Nicholas. The pressure on his
throat eased; he panted, still ground into the floor by the hand that
was cruelly twisting his arm up his back. Selena touched his hair tenderly,
smiling.

"My
poor sweet Nicholas. It's not who I am. It's who YOU are."

Nicholas
frowned, gasping as his arm was jerked again.

Selena smoothed
his hair. "Poor boy. It hurts, doesn't it? I'm afraid I am going
to hurt you a lot in the next few days." The hand continued, stroking
his hair, while the man behind him was making Nicholas' arm turn numb.
Selena nodded, and Nicholas was pulled to his knees, his left arm still
behind him, the chain still held by the guard.

Selena stood,
smiling pleasantly. It was more chilling than the room. She paced, talking.

"Dear
Nicholas. What fun we will have together! And you want to know who I am.
You may only call me ma'am. Or Mistress. Whichever you prefer. I'm afraid
that's all the choice you will have in things now. As to who you are -
" she turned, a finger smoothing back a hair into her bun, smiling
at him.